


Miracle Child

by bombcollar



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Child Death, Gen, Unethical Experimentation, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:32:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: The holy king is born.





	Miracle Child

**Author's Note:**

> Where did you think dragon hybrids came from?

"This one is ready."

At his assistant's word, Oceiros slices open the top of the egg's wax shell with a dull knife, letting albumen well up from the cut. The incubators were shells of enchanted wax and indigo crystal, molded after the eggs of drakes and catalyzed with magic.  The cut oozes viscous and translucent onto the table as he sticks his fingers into its freezing, jelly-filled interior to grasp the embryo. He pulls it free with a thick, wet sucking sound, like a boot being pulled from mud. 

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy, this time."

At least this one looks more like a human child than the last specimen, not a bulbous-headed, disproportionate thing with lidless lizard eyes. Featherless wings hang limp from its back, a tiny tail from its spine, its skin speckled with small scales. Oceiros bites his tongue. He must not celebrate too early. The child is pale blue, head and twiglike limbs lolling, trailing ropes of mucus. He can feel no heartbeat as he lays it upon the table, and it is a painfully thin, withered little thing, the sort of child who would have expired soon after birth anyway.

"Shame." Shaking his head, he marks down the formula used so that he would not make the same mistake again. He'd long accepted failure as part of the process, but time was running out. He needed to produce something worthy of the Flame. They'd sought the Paledrake's notes on hybridization, following old tales of the crossbreed lady of the painting, supposedly his doing. It was all for nothing though, as the gods had long destroyed any information about the process for fear of anybody bringing about another user of her same deadly power. Essentially they'd had to re-discover it for themselves, through arduous trial and error, years and years toiling and harvesting, all for nothing but a flock of malformed, worthless wretches.

"Prepare it for dissection, perhaps something can still be gained from it."

The assistant nods grimly, moving to pick up the tiny body. As soon as his fingers brush it, it shudders, letting out a wretched, gurgling wheeze. Far from the strident cry of a healthy newborn, the sound is barely human, more like a poorly-oiled door hinge. He flinches back just as Oceiros whips around, swooping down upon the infant and scooping it up in both hands. “What did you do?”

“I just touched him, sir...”

Oceiros holds the child close to his face, observing the twitches of his tiny claws, the shallow rise and fall of his ribs. “Seems he has some will to live after all. Hello, little one...” He cradles the child in one hand, taking hold of his fingers to see if he would try to grab on. The child doesn’t, hand sliding limply back onto his chest. Still, that he’d fought his back from death, even as frail and feeble as he was, gave the king the faintest lumen of hope.

Oceiros sighs softly, handing him over to the assistant, who grimaces at the cold and slimy thing. “Clean him up, see if he eats. If he survives the night, maybe we can count him as a success. If not, well... He won’t be the first. There’s no reason to stop trying.”


End file.
